


The Kissing Toll

by rxpunzels



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eventual Smut, Except It's Definitely Not Platonic, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Platonic Kissing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxpunzels/pseuds/rxpunzels
Summary: “Fine, so if I French kiss you, you’ll clean the fucking kitchen?” Eddie asks.“What’s going on here exactly?” Richie asks, his voice sounding faint.Up until this moment, Eddie has been acting pretty blasé about it. Like he isn’t a straight guy offering to – what? – make out with his very gay roommate. But maybe it’s the hoarseness coating Richie’s words that has him suddenly faltering, because now he’s pulling his shirt sleeves down over his hands and frowning.“What? Is that weird? You said you missed kissing and like, it’s justkissingfor me. And I need the fucking floor cleaned so I figured I do you a favour, you do me a favour.”a.k.a the one where Richie and Eddie set up a kissing toll and Richie tries super hard not to fall for his straight best friend
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 160
Kudos: 759





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaspbrak_kid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaspbrak_kid/gifts).



> My friend Becca asked me to write a fic where Richie and Eddie had a kissing toll going on. Instead of the little domesticated oneshot she expected, I'm instead giving her this multi-chaptered saga of unresolved sexual tension and platonic kisses that definitely aren't platonic.
> 
> But there will also definitely be some fluff.

Eddie is in the middle of vacuuming the living room floor when Richie eventually shuffles out of his bedroom, wrapped in a blanket with sleep-mussed hair. He grunts a greeting towards his roommate before flopping dramatically onto the sofa face first.

Eddie continues with his task.

Their vacuum is an old, droning thing. It does the job only when Eddie goes over everything twice and emits a low, gentle hum which Richie is thankful for because it means his self-pitying whine can be heard over it.

Still, Eddie doesn’t lift his head, just lifts the cable out of the way so he can shove the vacuum head under the coffee table. Richie tries again, huffing loudly and wriggling onto his back, trying to not let his legs get tangled in the blanket.

This time, Eddie still says nothing, but he _does_ raise an eyebrow at Richie before pointedly returning to his chore.

“What?” Richie asks innocently.

“If you want to get my attention, you can just ask for it instead of pitching a fit,” Eddie tells him, wrinkling his nose when the vacuum makes a startlingly creaky noise. “Jesus. This thing is on its last legs.”

“So’s my _heart_ ,” Richie supplies.

Eddie switches the appliance off so he can sit cross-legged on the floor and flip the whole thing over and cradle the big sucky part (what, like Richie knows what it’s called?) in his lap to inspect whatever’s been caught in the grooves.

“Really? You’re still going on about being heartbroken?” he asks absently, his fingers combing through the rough bristles of the vacuum.

The words might have sounded cold to anyone else, but Richie figures that Eddie probably _is_ tired of hearing about Richie’s break up. It’s been a whole three weeks since Connor dumped him over text, stating that Richie was simply “too much” for him. At the time, he’d been absurdly cut up about it and spent the whole night curled up in his bed, staring blankly at the wall until Eddie got home from work and found him like that.

Then, Eddie had ordered an alfredo gnocchi bake from Richie’s favourite Italian takeout and spent no less than twenty whole minutes firmly telling Richie he _wasn’t_ too much for _anyone_. It had been weirdly affirming for Richie who always just believed people were humouring him when they said shit like that. But Eddie was a sincere guy. He never beat around the bush and he always told it like it was. Basically, he’d never _lie_ to make Richie feel better, so if someone like Eddie Kaspbrak was willing to stick around and still keep being his best friend than he’d choose to stick to the other man’s explanation that Connor was a no-good, dumb-as-shit, bag of fucking mouldy bread who didn’t know a good thing when he had it.

Eddie had made him laugh that night with his Connor-centric insults, and a week later, once Richie had cried his feelings out and domineered the TV remote after Eddie gracefully gave up his possession of it, they’d hit up a gay bar together and Richie had laughed even harder when four different guys had unsuccessfully tried to hit on his _very straight_ roommate.

Richie hadn’t gone home with anyone that night but he _had_ danced his ass off to ABBA’s greatest hits and convinced Eddie to join him on the dancefloor which was an impressive feat, really. After it, they’d stumbled home together with Richie’s arm slung around Eddie’s shoulders as he declared that he was over Connor _for good_.

So he can see why Eddie sounds more than a little tired of his insistence that he’s still definitely heartbroken and devastated and distraught and whatever other appropriate synonym fit.

“Yes, I _am_ ,” he says.

“A fucking _peanut?_ That’s what’s making this break down?” Eddie scowls, fishing the offending peanut shell out of the vacuum and glaring at it. “We need a new fucking machine.”

Richie blinks at him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Eddie asks, then frowns when it hits him. “Wait, no. Please tell me you’re not still hung up on Connor. That guy was a fucking _asshole_. How many times do I have to say it? Do you want me to report his tweets again?”

The two of them hadn’t been sure whether or not _Breaking Bad_ livetweets could necessarily be constituted as spam, but Eddie was a weirdly staunch supporter of Skylar White so when Connor made an off-hand misogynistic comment about her in one of his tweets, Eddie had been trigger-happy with the “I find this offensive” button.

Connor had regained access to his account a few days later, but Eddie had still smugly called it a victory and Richie had grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. He fucking loved having Eddie as a best friend.

“No,” Richie laughs, rolling onto his side, even though it makes the side of his glasses dig uncomfortably into his head. “It’s not _Connor_ as such, it’s just…”

He trails off and bites his lip. When he eventually brings his gaze back to Eddie, his friend is staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” he asks.

“What?” Eddie replies sharply. He ducks his head down to the vacuum again. “You were saying? If it’s not Connor, then what? Because you’re moping and I don’t like it. Unless this is your excuse to get out of doing chores because if it’s that, then fuck you. Grab a mop.”

Richie does no such thing. He was too busy struggling with his attempt to verbalise his feelings.

“Connor was a shitty person, but I miss being with him. Not even like, sex. I just miss _kissing_ someone. Is that weird?”

Eddie keeps his head bowed. “You miss kissing?”

“Yeah. It’s just… I dunno. I like kissing.” He stares up at the ceiling before petulantly thrashing his legs. “I want someone to kiss meeeeee.”

Eventually, Eddie lifts his head to scowl at him. “Dude, pull yourself together. And then start mopping the kitchen.”

“No, I need to whine, Eds,” Richie insists. “I don’t miss Connor. I just miss having someone to kiss.”

“Jeeze, I’ll fucking kiss you if it gets you to mop the floor,” Eddie grumbles.

Richie huffs out a laugh. “I might take you up on that.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively but makes no move to get up off the sofa. Eddie pushes himself onto his knees, probably just because he thinks the way he puts his hands on his hips and stares sternly at Richie will be more effective in getting him to shift off his ass. It sort of works.

“Mop. The. Floor.”

“I’m _sad_.”

“Rich, it’s chore day. I’m not doing this all myself, especially when this vacuum’s about to fucking pack in.”

“Then pucker up then.”

“Grow up.”

“Hey, you’re the one that brought it up so if you want me to clean then you know what to – _mmph!_ ”

Eddie’s hands frame Richie’s face as he mashes a brief, dry kiss to Richie’s lips and abruptly pulls away. He still has Richie’s face between his hands when he quirks an eyebrow and says, “You happy?”

“Uh, not really,” Richie says, still caught a little off-guard. He’d been teasing him sure, but he hadn’t actually expected Eddie to _do_ it. “I mean, where’s the _romance_ , Eds?”

“Where’s my clean fucking floor?” Eddie shoots back, letting go of Richie and pushing himself to his feet. “I kissed you, now you clean.”

“That was hardly a _kiss_. That was you punching your mouth with my mouth. If that’s what I missed I’d just go smack my head against the wall for a bit,” Richie claims, but he throws the blanket off himself anyway.

“I honestly wish you would,” Eddie says calmly, making Richie snort. He catches Richie’s eye and his mouth twitches in a smile.

“Go on then. What’s a real kiss for you?” Eddie asks and Richie immediately wonders if he just fell through a fucking rabbit hole.

“Huh?” he asks.

Eddie sighs impatiently. “What’s a real kiss for you if that wasn’t good enough? Tongue?”

Honestly, Richie isn’t sure what’s happening right now. He supposes that, in an abstract way, they’re just two best friends in their late twenties discussing kissing, which doesn’t actually sound all that weird now that he’s wrapped it in words he understands. But it’s the way Eddie is staring intently at him that’s making Richie do a double take. Like he’s actually interested in the answer.

“Uh, yeah,” he settles for eventually. “I guess I like it when tongue makes an appearance.”

“Fine, so if I French kiss you, you’ll clean the fucking kitchen?” Eddie asks, using the same tone he adopted when he told Richie he’d let him throw a party if the ode to Eddie’s ass written via magnetic poetry on the fridge disappeared for it.

“What’s going on here exactly?” Richie asks, his voice sounding faint.

Up until this moment, Eddie has been acting pretty blasé about it. Like he isn’t a straight guy offering to – what? – make out with his very gay roommate. But maybe it’s the hoarseness coating Richie’s words that has him suddenly faltering, because now he’s pulling his shirt sleeves down over his hands and frowning.

“What? Is that weird? You said you missed kissing and like, it’s just _kissing_ for me. And I need the fucking floor cleaned so I figured I do you a favour, you do me a favour.”

When Eddie puts it like that, it makes sense, but that’s doing nothing to calm the white noise in Richie’s head.

“Yeah, okay, but… You’re okay with kissing me?”

“Do you have fucking herpes or something?” Eddie snaps. “Look, I was just trying to get you to stop looking so sad. You said you don’t miss like, being in a relationship, just the kissing. And I can at least fucking do that if it means you’ll get up off your ass and help me out here. This place is a mess.”

He’s not wrong. Eddie likes everything to be clean and tidy but his hours at the hospital stretch long into the night so during the day he’s an adorable little zombie who’s happy to leave his cereal bowl in the sink up until they all pile up and he turns into this frantic cleaning bug by the end of the week. Plus, Richie knows he hasn’t been helping out as much as he should, mainly because Eddie has given him a free pass after the break-up but he knows better than to take advantage of Eddie’s good humour. It can go as quickly as it arrives and as much as he loves it when Eddie goes off on one of his rampages, he always prefers it when they’re aimed at someone who isn’t _him_.

“You’d seriously make out with me just because I miss kissing someone?” Richie asks. There’s a soft, warm heat spreading through his chest.

“Yeah? Like I said, it’s just kissing,” Eddie shrugs, pointedly looking anywhere _but_ Richie.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s eyes slide back to him. “Okay?”

“Yeah? I mean, if you’re okay with it? It won’t be weird, right? It’ll be like all the times Bev gives you a head massage.”

“She does give _great_ head massages,” Eddie nods in agreement.

Richie finds himself nodding along and then catches himself. “So…”

They stare at each other awkwardly, before Eddie huffs and stomps forward. “I swear, I need to do everything around here.”

And then he’s kissing Richie.

It’s a lot nicer than the first kiss. This time, Eddie isn’t doing anything in a hurry. He tilts his head up and catches Richie’s lips with his own. Richie’s hands hang uselessly by his side while Eddie’s slide up onto his shoulders, steadying himself so he can deepen the kiss.

At first, it’s just a wet slide of their lips moving hesitantly against each other. But Richie _enjoys_ it. Honestly, he’d be lying if he says he’s never thought about what kissing Eddie would be like before, but he’d strictly written off the idea when he found out Eddie was straight. This isn’t weird though, it’s just platonic kissing and honestly Richie feels sort of happy and giddy in a way that he hasn’t in a while. He just likes kissing people and Eddie is a good kisser.

He can feel Eddie’s tongue trace the seam of his lips and he obediently opens his mouth. Their tongues brush against each other and that’s when it shifts from kissing to making out. Eddie lets out a small, impatient noise and blindly reaches out to grab Richie’s wrists in his hands, tugging him forward so Richie’s hands can settle at his waist. Richie quickly gets the message and takes hold of Eddie’s shirt, the soft material rubbing comfortingly against his palms.

They continue like that for a bit. It feels good, albeit a little safe, but it’s not like Richie is going to push his luck. He doesn’t want to freak Eddie out and it just feels good to have someone holding onto him and gently kissing him, even if there’s nothing romantic behind it.

Then all of a sudden, Eddie sucks Richie’s bottom lip into his mouth and Richie can’t help the moan that leaves him. It surprises them both and Eddie pulls back with a little flinch.

There’s a string of spit between their mouths and Eddie grimaces as he wipes his lips. “Ew.”

Richie lets out a startled laugh. “Exactly what a guy wants to hear after a kiss.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking sheepish. His lips are red and swollen and there’s a flash of _something_ in Richie’s stomach, but he refuses to give it a name.

Instead, he just squints at Eddie. “You okay?”

Eddie nods quickly. “Yeah, no, sorry, it was just…”

When Richie realises he’s referring to the frankly fucking embarrassing moan he let out, he grimaces. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t…”

“Richie, relax,” Eddie says. He rolls his eyes and the gesture is so familiar to him that Richie _does_ relax, his shoulders drooping a little as some of the tension leaves it. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“ _You?_ ” Richie stares at him in disbelief. “I wasn’t expecting a move like _that_.”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie. Richie’s eyes widen. Oh, this bastard actually has the audacity to look surprised.

“You liked that?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods. “Yeah. It was good.”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, brown eyes boring up into Richie’s. He swallows roughly. “Good enough to clean the fucking kitchen?”

That little shit.

“You’re an asshole. I say we just go back to making out, that was way more fun,” Richie pouts, but Eddie is already turning away from him.

“Get the countertops wiped down and I’ll think about it.”

Richie feels like he’s in position to _maybe_ push his luck so he works the phrasing over in his head while heading to grab the mop. “So like… this could happen again?”

“Do you want it to?” Eddie asks from where he’s setting the vacuum cleaner upright again. The juxtaposition of the conversation and their actions is sort of bizarre but Eddie seems content to go along with it, so Richie decides he is too.

“I’d be okay with it. You’re a good kisser.”

The tips of Eddie’s ears go pink. “Compliments don’t mean you’re getting out of mopping.”

“But what do I get if I _do_ mop?” Richie presses.

Eddie turns to face him and grins. It’s a sly, fucking downright _scheming_ grin that Richie had no idea Eddie was even capable of. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“So, this is like some sort of kissing toll? I clean and get paid in kisses?”

Eddie ponders this for a moment, lips pursed as he considers. Richie wants to kiss them again. Fuck, he’ll have this whole kitchen shining if there’s another kiss on the end of it for him.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” Eddie says eventually.

“Guess I gotta get cleaning then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this fic just writes itself now! No content warnings so far bar Richie's consistently overdramatic pondering over whether or not he's entering the afterlife due to certain events.

As it happens, they do end up kissing again once Richie has the kitchen spotless and shining.

It’s a thirty-second tentative make out session that’s suddenly disrupted by the shrill marimba ringtone of Eddie’s phone. He pulls away with a soft little breath that seems to be overly keen on jellifying Richie’s knees.

“Alright, good job,” Eddie says, clapping him on the shoulder and heading over to the sofa where his phone has presumably slipped between the cushions like it always does.

Richie is left standing in the kitchen, sweaty palms pressed against the countertops that he _just_ washed.

In all honesty, he’s no idea what to make of the last hour and a bit. He’d gone from whining about an ex to Eddie’s tongue in his mouth to furiously scrubbing the shelves of the fridge to triumphantly showing Eddie his handiwork and watching as his friend rolled his eyes and leaned forward to kiss him while Richie had still been wearing bright yellow rubber gloves.

There had been no expectant askance or preamble on his part, just Eddie fondly (Richie hopes) resigning himself to a deal he’d made with him prior. Like Eddie had said before, it’s just _kissing_. And Eddie is… _good_ at kissing.

“Stan wants to grab dinner with us tomorrow,” Eddie says, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Oh, cool,” Richie says, turning back around to face him.

Eddie’s eyes remain fixed on him, a tiny crease appearing in his forehead. Richie has long since accepted that it’s difficult _not_ to feel hypnotised when Eddie is staring at him like that. The man has the most intense gaze he’s ever come across. It never fails to trap and ensnare Richie, no matter if it’s scowling at him for turning subtitles off on Netflix or if it’s decidedly _worried_ about him. He takes in the way Eddie’s eyebrows cut downwards and realise it’s the latter.

“What?” he asks dumbly.

“Are you okay?” Eddie folds his arms over his chest, still frowning. “Like… this wasn’t a mistake or anything, was it?”

“The kissing thing?”

“No, the Abrams to Johnson to Abrams fiasco. _Yes_ , the kissing thing,” Eddie snaps irritably, as he always does when Richie asks for clarification to obvious questions.

“We all know _that_ was a mistake!”

“Richie, was it a mistake?” Eddie asks again, because of course he recognises right away that Richie is stalling.

Richie lets his cheeks fill with air before slowly expelling it in one dramatic breath. He peels the yellow gloves off and tosses them into the sink then supposes it’s a testament to how much Eddie is investing himself in this conversation that he doesn’t tell him off for that.

“I didn’t think it was a mistake, I just… don’t want it to turn into one,” he says eventually.

He watches as the words land with Eddie whose eyebrow twitch almost imperceptibly before he smooths his features out again. “So you don’t want to do it again?”

“Uh, it’s not _that,_ ” Richie croaks. “I mean… I actually wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“Maybe we should just set up some ground rules, I guess. I don’t want this to seem like I’m using you for like…” He trails off, suddenly floundering.

“My absurdly hot body,” Eddie deadpans.

It does the trick and Richie immediately starts laughing, which means Eddie finally cracks a smile.

“Look, let’s sit down, man,” Richie says, leading them over to the sofa and sitting criss-cross on his usual sofa cushion while Eddie takes up residence on his and tucks his legs underneath him.

“I guess,” Richie starts. “This is just sort of a weird arrangement. Not a _bad_ one but I don’t want you to think I’m being like, some sort of predatory gay or anything.”

“Rich!” Eddie looks appalled. His hand rests on top of Richie’s knee. “I wouldn’t think that.”

“No, I know! I just don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Well… I mean, I like kissing too. But it’s not like I’m not getting anything out of this either.”

Richie’s heart lurches. He stares at Eddie.

“I’ve never seen you clean the kitchen so quickly.”

Oh yeah.

Richie nods quickly. “Well.”

“How about,” Eddie ventures. “You just tell me what you like and I’ll tell you whether or not I’m comfortable with it?”

Richie is fully aware that, from an outsider’s perspective, the whole arrangement is cuckoo fucking bananas. He’s not blind to the fact, but there’s a soft fluttering in his chest anyway when he realises that Eddie, that crazy, neurotic little guy who goes absolutely batshit when Richie so much as leaves a sock in the bathroom, is willing to do this for him. Platonic intimacy is still intimacy, he tells himself, and he’s absolutely craving it right now.

He’s never been starved for touch. His mom and dad were always tugging him in for hugs when he was a kid, and befriending Bev in high school meant that he always had arms around his neck or a hand in his. And once he came out and realised he was allowed to like and touch and look at boys, he was fed physical affection whenever he wanted it, even if it was just for one night with a random hook-up. He’s always been gifted with intimacy of some kind and as soon as it left him after Connor, he’s been palpably feeling the loss.

So he’s not going to turn Eddie down. Not when he’s sure Eddie isn’t going to freak out about this.

“Uh, okay?” he says eventually.

“Rich.” Eddie raises an eyebrow at him.

“Okay,” he says, more firmly this time.

“So, what do you like when people kiss you?” Eddie asks, like he’s asking Richie what pizza toppings he’d like.

“Tongue is always a good place to start,” Richie replies, as if he’d just asked for pepperoni and jalapenos.

“We’ve covered that,” Eddie says dryly. “What about my hands? Where do you want me to put those?”

“Uh,” is all Richie manages. He blinks dopily then realises this could be a limited time offer and he’s not about to let it slip away before he has the chance to say what he wants.

“Sometimes I like it when…”

“When?” Eddie prompts.

“My hair?” His voice lifts up at the end, making it sound like a question.

“Sometimes you like it when your hair,” Eddie snorts.

“Dude, just because we’re acting like this is normal, it doesn’t actually mean it’s totally normal,” Richie argues, because he’s learned before that, occasionally acknowledging the awkwardness of a situation is the trick to making it less awkward.

“I know,” Eddie agrees. “But it’s better if we communicate, right?”

“Right.”

“So you’d like it if I put my hand in your hair?”

Eddie shuffles forward and Richie is trapped by the arm of the sofa. Soon, Eddie is pushing himself up onto his knees, finger sliding into Richie’s curls at the crown of his head and it takes all of his self-control not to shiver at the touch.

“Like this?”

“Maybe closer to my neck?”

Eddie’s hand obediently slides down, cupping the back of Richie’s neck while his fingers continue to slide through the hair there.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so where do you want to touch _me?_ ” Eddie asks innocently enough like he’s not just handed Richie a live grenade-slash-aneurysm.

He catches the surprised look on Richie’s face and says, “I had to put your hands on my hips myself so…”

“Hey, hips is good for me,” Richie says.

Eddie nods. “Okay, so…”

“Oh! Do you wanna?”

“I mean – do you?”

Eddie narrows his eyes and Richie lifts his head. “Yeah, let’s… come on.”

His eyes flutter shut when Eddie leans forward, their mouths gently meeting again. This time, it’s a little more co-ordinated, both of them acting instinctively and somehow falling into sync quicker than they had before. Absently, Richie supposes that this could be a learning process and it makes sense that it’s taken them a few tries to get it right, and then Eddie is slipping his tongue into his mouth and his mind goes blank.

He lifts his hands to rest them on Eddie’s waist. At first, it’s a barely-there touch but, for some reason, it makes Eddie push his mouth against Richie’s a little more insistently. Richie responds in kind, leaning forward and pressing his thumbs against the front of Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie’s hand tightens in his hair and Richie can’t help it. He moans.

It’s only for a split second, but Eddie pauses and Richie pulls back. “Sorry,” he says, breathlessly.

“Richie, it’s okay,” Eddie says.

He manages to drag his gaze up and finds Eddie smiling at him. It’s a little unsure, but a genuine smile nevertheless.

“Sorry, it just… felt good,” he admits sheepishly.

Eddie huffs out a laugh. “I mean, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess. I just…”

“Are you comfortable like this?” Eddie asks suddenly.

Richie is still sitting with crossed legs and Eddie is still on his knees. He hadn’t been focusing on comfort before but now that Eddie mentions it…

“Do you think we could…?”

“Lie down?” Eddie finishes.

Richie gives him a jerky nod and wriggles further down the sofa until he’s nearly horizontal, wondering how the hell he’s going to cope with this when Eddie slots himself in between Richie’s side and the back of the sofa. It’s a snug fit, but having Eddie pressed up against his side is infinitely more preferable than having him lying on top of him.

Well, ‘preferable’ might not be the word but at least this way he’s not in any immediate danger of popping a boner in front of his roommate.

Or at least he didn’t think he was until Eddie murmurs, “C’mere.” and rests a hand on Richie’s cheek to turn his face towards him until they’re kissing again.

Eddie’s hand slides back around to the nape of his neck, fingers lightly playing with his hair as Richie skirts a hand up Eddie’s side.

“Is this okay?” he mumbles.

“I’ll tell you if it isn’t,” Eddie says, kissing him abruptly.

He doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that Eddie seems to be enjoying this as much as he is. There’s certainly no imbalance to the levels of their enthusiasm. When Eddie fists a hand in Richie’s hair, he doesn’t let up until Richie lets out a soft moan and even then he presses closer to him like he’s afraid Richie is going to pull away again.

That’s all probably wishful thinking though.

Instead of having a silent meltdown over it, Richie focuses on Eddie. His lips feel soft and he knows it’s weird but he’s always like Eddie’s teeth and they way they’re comfortingly crooked. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his own overbite, but he’s stupidly fond of them anyway and lets the tip of his tongue trace the line and ever-so-slight lift of them. Eddie answers with a hitch of his breath and Richie nearly falls right through the sofa.

After that it’s almost like Eddie is constantly trying to one-up him. When Richie’s thumb rubs little circles against Eddie’s hip bones, Eddie responds by massaging Richie’s scalp in a way that has him practically melting. When Richie sucks on Eddie’s tongue, Eddie retaliates by nipping Richie’s bottom lip with his teeth, laughing a little when Richie lets out another stuttered moan.

“Hey,” Eddie breathes into his mouth about ten minutes in.

“Huh?”

He catches Eddie’s bottom lip with his own again.

“Richie, hang on,” Eddie says making him pull back a little.

He looks up and the hard-on he’d been trying to fend off nearly exposes him right then and there when he sees the way Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“Everything okay?” he asks, when he finds his voice.

Eddie nods quickly. “Yeah, just…”

“What?”

“Maybe we should stop now.”

“Shit, dude, yeah. I’m sorry.” It’s like a cement mixer has poured dread straight into his stomach and it’s ready to turn to concrete. He worriedly searches Eddie’s eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

Eddie’s mouth drops open. His hand slides out of Richie’s hair. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Richie shifts uncomfortably. “No?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Jesus Christ,” Eddie swears, shaking his head in disbelief. Richie has no clue what the fuck is going on.

“I just figured we’d stop right now before… I mean, aren’t _you_ a little…” Eddie trails off and, for the first time, he goes red. Like, _really_ blushing. Richie has no idea what to do with that until his eyes drop down to where their hips are pressed together and the world tilts on his axis and Richie narrowly avoids helter-skeltering straight into cardiac arrest when he realises that Eddie is _hard_.

Not extremely so, but there’s a definitive bulge in his sweatpants and a clear outline of his dick and Richie wonders if this is some sort of weird, horny purgatory he’s entered into. Maybe he inhaled too may fumes from the cleaning products and died. He had never really entertained the idea of an Ajax-induced death catering so specifically to his dick.

“Sorry, I just feel like… maybe some things you can’t really come back from?” Eddie says and Richie doesn’t know if it’s his imagination or a poorly-timed embolism (well, he doesn’t think they’re ever really _well_ timed) but Eddie almost sounds apologetic. “So it might be better if we stop now?”

Oh, so Eddie is just going to acknowledge this and be matter-of-fact about it.

He knows he has two options. He can remain silent or open his mouth to reassure Eddie and run the risk of sounding like a dying seal in the process. His mind is made up for him when he sees Eddie’s smile wavering and immediately he nods.

“No, sure, Eds. Of course.”

There’s a small pause and the corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches. “You’re not gonna make a joke or anything?”

“About what?”

“About what holy shit shut the fuck up,” Eddie breathes all at once. “About me getting – you know what, never mind. I’m gonna make dinner, okay?”

He pushes himself up, back onto his knees. Before he clambers off the sofa though, he leans down and quickly pecks Richie on the lips, like he’s using it as a full stop to punctuate the end of whatever that had been.

“I can’t be bothered making anything special. You want the boxed mac and cheese?”

“Yeah,” Richie replies faintly.

“Cool.”

Richie lies there for a few more seconds before eventually pushing himself up. “I’m gonna shower first okay?”

“Sure,” Eddie calls over his shoulder. “Just be ready in like, fifteen minutes or I’m eating all of this myself.”

Any other time, Richie would crack some sort of joke about that but as it is, he’s determinedly steering himself towards the bathroom, knowing full fucking well that it’s not going to take him fifteen minutes to jerk off under the spray of the water.

This whole arrangement is going to turn out to be the best or worst idea of his life, and right now he has no idea which one it’ll be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YELL @ ME ON TWITTER @rxpunzelss
> 
> I LOVE THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON THERE


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a momentary POV switch so we can see how Eddie is dealing with this.

There’s definitely something absolutely mortifying about getting hard while platonically kissing your best friend-slash-roommate, all while still calling yourself a heterosexual man. Despite all of that though, Eddie is proud of himself for playing it off.

When you strip the romance away from kissing, it sort of becomes an inherently sexual task, right? Especially when your tongue is down the other person’s throat. Once that’s taken into account, it’s easy to say that the way your body reacts is simply instinctive and natural, even if you are a guy kissing a guy and still claiming to be straight.

Eddie knows, is the thing.

He knows there’s more to his feelings for Richie than a deep appreciation for their friendship. He’s known since he moved into with the guy and he’s slowly been coming to terms with what that means for him. He’s just thankful, as twisted as it might sound, that he doesn’t have to go through the motions of a goddamn sexuality crisis while his mom is still alive.

If the liver cancer that eventually claimed her hadn’t ended Sonia Kaspbrak, then Eddie wondering if he’s more inclined towards men than women certainly would.

There’s a part of him that feels guilty. Not because of his mom, no, fuck that. He’s long since worked himself out of the trauma she gave him, even if he does have the occasional set back. But while he’s still figuring himself out, he wonders if it’s manipulative of him to keep making out with Richie.

He hadn’t started out with any ulterior motives. He really had just wanted to help Richie out _and_ get him to clean the fucking kitchen.

Then they’d made out and he’d realised just how much he _likes_ making out with Richie. He’s never kissed a guy before but he’s pretty sure if he ever plucks up the courage to do so with someone else, he’s going to be hoping the dude has a bit of an overbite and some seriously curly hair.

He’s fully aware of the fact that he should probably think about what this means for him, although it’s easier said than done. He knows that’s because it’s a lot harder to pretend he’s over something than confronting the challenging notion that maybe he needs to work on himself a little more. He’s told himself countless times that he’s not going to let his mother control his life from beyond the grave and the now-infrequent use of his inhaler and deep-seated appreciation for boxed mac and cheese proves he’s definitely making headway with that.

But… liking guys? Admitting to liking guys? He doesn’t think he’s ready for that yet.

All he knows is that he likes Richie and he likes kissing Richie and he enjoys the little turned-on moans Richie makes when they’re making out. Pride surges through him every time he realises that _he’s_ making him do that, and that Richie is enjoying this as much as he is.

That had been the point, after all. They were doing this because Richie missed kissing someone and Eddie was on hand as a willing participant. Maybe even more willing than Richie knew and an uncomfortable sort of feeling curls in Eddie’s gut when he wonders if that’s immoral or not.

It’s been about two weeks since they’ve started this whole thing and they’ve been kissing at least once a day. Sometimes it’s because Richie takes the trash out or cleans his pizza boxes up instead of leaving them on the counter. But sometimes Eddie will find an excuse for Richie to do something so he has a reason to kiss him.

A few days ago, he asked Richie to change the lightbulb because he was pretty sure it was a dud that kept flickering and Richie had done so. Then Eddie had proceeded to press him up against the wall and they’d made out with Eddie’s hand in Richie’s hair until Richie was mewling into his mouth and they’d had to break apart.

“Okay, time out,” Eddie had breathed, forehead against Richie’s chin as he willed his own erection away.

God, he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to last without _telling_ him.

_____

He drops his keys into the bowl when he gets home from a shift, leaving his backpack by his bedroom door. Then he tiredly shuffles into the kitchen, back sore and bones aching, and is met with the sight of Richie, elbow deep in soapy suds as he cleans the dishes.

“You’re… washing up…” He blinks, a little stunned. Richie isn’t known for washing up, especially unprompted.

“Eh, they were piling up,” Richie shrugs. He glances over his shoulder at Eddie, shooting him a smile and Eddie feels a familiar tug in his chest. “How was work?”

His mind flashes back to his shift in the ER and he winces. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Richie nods and returns to scrubbing at one of their saucepans and a renewed sense of appreciation washes over Eddie. Slowly, he creeps forward.

“Are you going to wash _and_ dry?” he teases.

Richie lifts his head to grin. “What will that get me?”

In lieu of a verbal reply, Eddie pushes gently at Richie’s shoulder so he can angle his body so that it’s facing towards him. Then, because he apparently can’t help himself, he pushes himself up so he can kiss Richie.

As always, Richie’s mouth is soft and pliant under his. It opens a little so Eddie can run his tongue along the inside of Richie’s bottom lip and then Richie is sucking gently and Eddie’s knees nearly buckle.

His hands fist in the material of Richie’s sweater as he pushes himself closer and Richie’s hands reach up to cup his face.

Which means a totally unexpected amount of soapy, sudsy water splashes all over him.

“Fucking hell, Richie!” He wrenches his head back and Richie does the same, blinking stupidly until he realises his error, and then the fucker starts laughing because _of course he does._

“Oh shit, Eds, I’m sorry,” he laughs.

“Asshole!”

Immediately, Eddie scoops up a handful of bubbles from the sink and shoves his hand in Richie’s face. The bubbles cling to him as he snorts with laughter.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Spaghetti!”

“No!” Eddie hisses, but Richie’s arm is already around his waist, tugging him in and pulling him against Richie’s chest while his free hand dips into the sink and proceeds to lather Eddie’s face with washing up liquid.

“Look at that, you finally grew a beard!” Richie exclaims. Eddie splutters and tries to wipe it away, his fingers sopping with bubbles which he blows at in an attempt to get them to spray into Richie’s face.

The whole thing escalates until they’re both splashing water and soap at each other and then Eddie is rolling his eyes and grabbing at Richie’s jersey to pull him forward again, their mouths meeting messily.

“Oh fuck!” Eddie snorts. “I got bubbles up my nose!”

“I have them in my mouth,” Richie giggles. He leans down and kisses Eddie again, bubbles still clinging to them as Richie backs Eddie up against the kitchen counter.

Suddenly, Richie’s hands are sliding down the back of Eddie’s thighs and fucking hoisting him up so he can sit on top of the counter and the only reason Eddie doesn’t immediately get hard is probably because he’s so caught off guard. Then Richie is standing in between his splayed legs and soapy water is being transferred from Eddie’s hands to Richie’s hair and they’re both laughing into each other’s mouths and it’s the most unco-ordinated kiss Eddie’s ever had in his life and he can’t help but think that maybe it’s also the best one.

“Wait, wait,” Eddie says.

“Dude, you’re not even hard this time!” Richie says, pointedly staring at Eddie’s crotch where any evidence of an erection would be evident through his blue scrubs.

“Holy shit, shut up!” Eddie says, cheeks turning a deep red. “It’s not that, I just genuinely think I’m going to sneeze.”

“The bubbles again?”

“Mhm.”

“Look at the light.”

“What?”

“I think it’s meant to help you sneeze.”

Eddie doesn’t think that’s true but he tips his head up to the kitchen light anyway. His arms are still slung over Richie’s shoulders and Richie’s hands still rest lightly on his waist.

“Never mind, I think it passed,” he says, dropping his head after a couple of seconds. He leans back against the cupboard and notices Richie watching him, a funny look on his face. Something twists in his stomach.

“What?”

Richie tilts his head to the side. “You really had a bad day at work?”

Eddie sighs. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about it?”

“Sure, man, I just… Hey, why don’t you get your ass in the shower and we can order takeout and get drunk?” Richie suggests.

“I haven’t gotten drunk in _so long_. I don’t even think I have a tolerance anymore,” Eddie argues.

“So…” Richie raises his eyebrows and Eddie wilts in defeat.

“So get the vodka out while I go shower,” Eddie relents.

Richie drives his fist up into the air. “Thatta boy!”

He looks so happy, grinning wide and his eyes crinkling and all Eddie wants to do is lean forward and kiss him again. He could do it. He could just lean in and it could be sweet and chaste and instead of being like their usual hungry kisses, maybe he could make every intention of his clear instead of saying it out loud. He’s been kissing Richie every day for two weeks now, it’s easy to act physically. Maybe he’d be able to let Richie know through his actions rather than his words. It really would be so easy.

But by the time his mind is made up, Richie has walked away and is rifling through the drawers for one of their takeout menus.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says softly, sliding off the counter and staring at Richie’s back for a few seconds before finally turning around and heading to the bathroom.

_____

An hour later, Eddie is wearing comfier clothes and is tucked into his usual corner of the sofa, his hair still drying from the shower.

When he gets out, he groans when he realises that Richie has taken up the mantle of couch commando and gained possession of the remote which means Eddie is subjected to watching _Dirty Dancing_. He knows that Richie’s always had a thing for Patrick Swayze and like… he gets it.

The guy is tall and broad-shouldered with a square jaw and oh, fuck, Eddie’s really needs to re-evaluate everything he’s ever assumed about himself.

Immediately, he lifts his drinking glass to his mouth, trying not to screw his face up at the strong taste of the vodka. Given that it’s his day off tomorrow, he figured he’d go ahead and let Richie pour for him, which means his cup currently contains what’s known as a ‘Richie measure’. In every day terms, the mixer stands no chance of coming out stronger than the alcohol and Eddie hasn’t properly drank in about three months, so already there’s a warm foggy haze creeping over him.

Once upon a time, he would have freaked out over that. This time, he leans into it, resting against the sofa cushions with his toes tucked under Richie’s thighs.

Richie’s so engrossed in the movie that Eddie allows himself to just… look at him.

Realistically, Eddie knows that it could definitely be all men that he’s attracted to. But right now it’s impossible for him to think about any other man existing outside of Richie. It’s impossible to think about any other human being in general. He sits there on the sofa, nursing his vodka and Coke and staring straight at Richie.

“What?” Richie asks him, frowning a little, and that’s when Eddie realises Richie is staring back.

“Huh?” He blinks slowly.

“Man, are you out of it already?” Richie grins.

“No!” Eddie snaps. “I’m just tired. I’ve had a long day.”

“You gotta watch the movie!” Richie insists and Eddie doesn’t bother hiding his pout.

“You’ve seen this so many times.”

“I fucking love this scene!” Richie says suddenly, the popcorn bowl he’s eating from nearly flying out of his lap before Eddie manages to catch it and set it onto the coffee table.

He collapses into a fit of giggles when Richie launches himself off the sofa and rolls onto the carpet, finishing in a pose where he’s propped his head up on the palm of his hand, his elbow digging into the carpet. It takes his alcohol-addled brain a few seconds to realise what Richie is doing and he splutters with laughter again.

“You’re seriously not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?” But he’s already pushing himself up onto his feet, swaying a little unsteadily. Sober Eddie would never do this, but Drunk Eddie’s limbs feel loose and his belly feels warm and every time he catches sight of Richie with that dumb pucker of his lips he wants to laugh and cry all over again. Smiling dopily, he shakes his head at Richie who’s flicking his hair back.

“Jesus Christ.”

The familiar twang of music sounds from the television and Eddie continues to shake his head.

“We’re not doing this,” he warned Richie even though the further he backs away from him with a goofy grin, it’s clear that they really are about to do this.

“Sylviaaaaaa!” Richie calls in time with the TV.

“Yes, Mickey?” Eddie shoots back, a little out of sync with the movie but that’s because he’s trying to talk around his laughter.

“How do you call your lover boy?” Richie shouts, over-doing the smoulder. Fuck, Eddie kind of wants to just jump him.

Vodka really messes with his inhibitions, he’s quickly discovering.

Instead, he just side-steps his way around the coffee table and with a jerk of his head replies, “Come here, lover boy!” Then he promptly blushes bright red and pushes his face into his hands.

“Do you think Jennifer Grey got paid to blush, Spagheds. Get your shit together!” Richie snickers, already pushing himself up on all fours.

“ _It’s your line!_ ”

“Oh shit – and if he doesn’t answer?”

“Oh lov- shit, Richie, I can’t fucking do this,” Eddie wheezes, tears leaking out of his eyes he’s laughing so hard.

“And if he _still_ doesn’t answer?” Richie presses, his knuckles digging into the floor.

Eddie watches him for a second before he drops down to his knees. “I simply say-”

Richie takes over the singing at first, letting out a screeching _‘baaaaaby’_ that all but ends Eddie. He clutches at his stomach, his other hand shooting down to the floor in order to steady himself as he crawls towards Richie.

Richie is no fucking Johnny Castle with his Garfield shirt, basketball shorts and Zeiss lenses. However, Eddie is but a simple homo sapien with latent feelings of barely suppressed attraction for him, so when he begins crawling towards Eddie, slowly and sexily, Eddie is damn fucking thankful he’s not wearing those tight running shorts he has.

Richie shoots back onto his haunches, going ham on the air guitar solo as he rocks his head back. The long strips of veins straining against the skin of his neck make Eddie’s mouth water.

And then Richie leans forward again, tugging Eddie’s shirt towards him and Eddie has no choice but to follow. His nose narrowly misses colliding with Richie’s. It speaks highly of his cardiovascular system that his heart doesn’t just give out right then and there.

Because Richie is _so fucking close_ and he isn’t a gifted singer, god bless him, but at least that means Eddie can focus on the hysterical caterwauling to distract himself from the fact that their foreheads end up pressed together.

“You can’t sing for shit,” Eddie says huskily. Maybe he’s intentionally dropped his voice to sound deliberately sexy but then he realises halfway through the sentence that he’s a crabby, rundown med student who’s roughly the size of a Hobbit who only managed to make a move on his best friend by pretending it’s through some favour, and both the illusion and his self-confidence is shattered.

But then Richie is sliding his arm around the small of Eddie’s back and his breath catches in his throat.

The movie and the music turns into static noise as Richie fucking _winks_ at him and then drops his head so his nose can trace a line down the middle of Eddie’s chest and holy shit is this actually happening?

This feels different than the other times they’ve made out. More charged, if that’s possible.

The barely-there touch leaves a blazing trail of heat as Richie dips lower, his free hand going to lift up Eddie’s shirt and a heady feeling overtakes him. Surely there could be no misinterpreting this, right? There’s been no chores discussed, no favour Richie owes him, and it’s not like Richie has ever made the first move before. This is different, right?

He can feel Richie’s fingers skirting his side and his muscles jump automatically. This whole time, had Richie suggested mimicking the horniest scene from the eighties all for the sake of coming onto Eddie? It’s nearly too much for Eddie to contend with and he can automatically feel himself thickening in his sweatpants which might have been an issue if he isn’t suddenly confident in the fact that _Richie is taking Eddie’s shirt off_.

He’s being seduced by a man via Dirty Dancing. This is the gayest way possible for him to finally move to the next step with Richie and he gasps aloud when Richie’s mouth presses against his bare stomach.

And then Richie blows a loud and gross farting noise against his abdomen.

That.

Little.

Bitch.

“What the _fuck!?_ ” Eddie shrieks, scuttling backwards as Richie falls forward in hysterical laughter.

Face burning, Eddie quickly realises that he’d just fully let himself get half-hard for absolutely fucking nothing and yanks his shirt back down from where it’s rucked up against his shoulders. He tugs on the hem to drag it past his crotch, staring at Richie and debating the pros and cons of fucking murdering him.

“Wait, Eds, we’re behind, c’mon!” Richie is pointing at the screen but Eddie can’t bring himself to look.

He feels limp and boneless which makes it easy for Richie to rag-doll him upwards into a standing position. He struggles to find his footing for a moment and his hand flails out to grasp Richie’s shoulder as the other man hugs him around his waist and begins making them both sway in an over-the-top manner, completely out of rhythm.

Eddie’s only saving grace at that moment is Richie’s total ignorance to the inner turmoil he’s caused Eddie. He’s too busy grinning like a loon and singing loudly.

Meanwhile, Eddie is still fighting to get his breath back.

Suddenly, Richie jumps back from him. “Wait, Eddie, we should do the lift!”

Even tipsy, Eddie knows that’s not a good idea.

“We’re not doing the lift,” he says flatly.

Richie’s eyes widen behind his glasses, looking mournful and pleading.

Five minutes later, the coffee table has been pushed out the way and Eddie is by the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet and psyching himself up.

“This is a bad idea. This is a _really_ bad idea!” he says.

“I won’t drop you, Eds! It’ll be fine!” Richie says. He’s half-crouched, knees braced to support Eddie’s weight.

Richie crooks his finger at Eddie, beckoning him to come closer and it turns out Eddie possesses some very poor judgment when he’s an uncharacteristically concentrated mix of drunk and horny.

He sprints across their living room floor, bending his knees when his hips run into Richie’s hands, feeling Richie’s palms flatten out a little against his waist and before Richie can even try to lift him, the two of them are tumbling to the ground as Richie’s knees buckle and he drops Eddie.

They manage to twist around at some point during the fall and Eddie lets out an ‘oof!’ when he crashes onto the floor, another grunt following when Richie drops on top of him like dead weight.

Richie scrambles up. “Jesus Christ, Eds, I’m so fucking sorry. You know I have fucking noodle arms, you shouldn’t have trusted me to – are you laughing right now, you little shit?”

Eddie lets out a loud snort as he curls in on himself and laughs harder.

“You stupid asshole,” he curses out Richie.

Then Richie is laughing too, curling over on top of Eddie and laughing into his shoulder. Richie is an ugly laugher, making loud braying noises that only serve to make Eddie laugh harder.

Eventually, he rolls over so he’s flat on his back, grinning up at Richie who’s pushed himself up onto his elbows so he can hover over Eddie. His hair flops into his face.

Eddie bites his lip, his stomach flipping when Richie’s eyes dip down to watch him. He knows he isn’t imagining the way Richie’s pupils get bigger and, still bolstered by the vodka they’d shared, he reaches up and pushes Richie’s hair away from his forehead.

“You need a haircut,” he says quietly.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, equally as soft, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s face.

A soft shake of Eddie’s head. “No.”

They stare at each other. The air around them is too thick for Richie to even entertain the thought of blowing a raspberry against Eddie again.

Just as Richie’s thumb slip under Eddie’s shirt, the doorbell rings.

Eddie freezes and Richie immediately rolls off him.

“That’ll be the food,” he announces as he pushes himself to his feet.

“Took ‘em long enough,” Eddie grumbles just for something to say.

He sits up as Richie walks over to the door and launches into a playful conversation with the delivery guy just as he always does because Richie can make friends everywhere. Eddie leans back against the sofa and watches him and his heart thuds painfully in his chest.

That’s when he knows he’s in too deep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was meant to finish at a point later in the story but during the first half of this Eddie totally ran away with it without my permission lmao. Suddenly my plan to keep this chapter at 3000 words max went to pot so it had to be cut in half, meaning you get this part right now and then the, uhhhhh, direct result of this part in chapter 5 :)

Eddie is moaning softly into the space between their mouths when Richie realises he’s totally in love with him.

The thought materialises and then is quickly swallowed by Eddie’s lips hungrily catching his again and then he’s being pressed against the sofa cushions. This seems to be where they do the majority of their making out, and Richie can’t find it in himself to complain. He just didn’t realise it would eventually cause tummy-flipping, life-altering epiphanies and his head spins.

“Eddie,” he gasps and Eddie pulls back, looking down at him expectantly.

He’s hovering carefully over him, his forearms brushing Richie’s shoulders but that’s the only part of their bodies that are touching. Richie can’t shake the feeling that Eddie is deliberately being careful about not touching him _too much_.

“What?” Eddie asks, a hint of concern etched into those bold, dipped eyebrows.

_I love you, I love you, I love you_.

It’s all he wants to say and everything he can’t say.

_I love you,_ because you saw me crying in bed and without hearing what happened you grabbed Connor’s hoody from where it hung on the doorknob and tossed it out into the hallway so I wouldn’t have to look at it.

_I love you_ , because I told you I was lonely and you were there for me and you gave me everything I wanted and now I’m the idiot who wants more.

_I love you_ , because you’re kissing me and moaning into my mouth and the only thing I did to earn it was rearrange the shoe rack so your work shoes are easier to reach.

_I love you_ , because you’re the best fucking friend I’ve ever had and now I want more and I can’t have that.

There’s a lump in his throat that feels like its going to tear his skin apart from the inside out. Eddie is still staring down at him, like he’s really starting to worry now.

“Rich?” he asks softly, and the sound of it bulldozes straight through Richie’s chest. He feels like his ribs are caving in.

“Nothing,” he says, because that’s the only thing he _can_ say right now.

“Y’sure?” Eddie asks. He cards a hand through Richie’s hair and Richie can’t help but tilt his head towards Eddie’s palm, a soft hum leaving him.

Eddie makes a little, amused noise, gently playing with Richie’s hair. “You seemed kind of, I dunno, in your head, I guess?”

Colour floods Richie’s face and he forces himself to look up at Eddie.

“N-no. I’m good.”

He must not sound convincing because Eddie pulls back a little although his hand still keeps stroking its way though Richie’s curls.

“Do you want to stop?” Eddie asks.

“No!”

There’s a small smile on Eddie’s face, like he’s entertained by Richie’s eagerness to keep going, but he still doesn’t lean forward, forcing himself to look stern. “Are you sure? You don’t need a breather?”

“I’d rather you just kiss me, to be honest,” Richie says, and it feels good to relax back into his usual smartass stride. At the very least, it earns him an eyeroll from Eddie which is, he tells himself, ten times better than the look of horror he’s sure to find there if he even _hints_ at his real feelings. Suddenly, he’s fighting the urge to clam right back up and it’s only indignancy that makes him frown petulantly when Eddie shakes his head again.

“I think your mouth needs a break for a bit,” he says.

There’s a long, high-pitched whining noise and Richie won’t even pretend that it’s not coming from him. “No, I wanna make out!”

“Hey,” Eddie says, leaning in closely again. “I said _your_ mouth needs a break.”

Richie doesn’t have time to ask him what the hell _that_ means because soon enough, Eddie is mouthing at the skin of his neck.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” he lets out, involuntarily.

Eddie pops his head back up. “Sorry. I should have asked, is that okay?”

“Shouldn’t your mouth be doing something that isn’t acting dumbass questions?” Richie bites back and Eddie huffs out a laugh.

“You sounded all crabby like _me_ there.”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie whines and then there’s warm, wet mouth against his jaw, lips scraping against his stubble as Eddie trails blazing kisses down his throat.

When Eddie kisses a particularly sensitive spot, Richie’s eyes flutter shut.

“There,” he breathes. Suddenly, Eddie’s mouth is a little bit more insistent. His teeth nip at Richie neck. He doesn’t suck or leave a mark but it’s still enough to make Richie cant his head back and let out a little mewl of pleasure.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, that _asshole_. Richie can _feel_ him smirking against him.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Eddie lightly bites at him again, quick and painless and Richie can’t help the soft, utterly contented sigh he lets out. “That feels good.”

“Good,” says Eddie, lightly running his tongue across the place he’s softly sank his teeth into.

“There a bruise?” Richie asks. There’s a stirring in his groin at the mere fucking thought.

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t worry.”

“M’not worried.”

“Well, _I_ am,” Eddie grins. “We’ve got Stan’s party in like, two hours and they’re gonna ask questions if we show up after you let me maul your neck.”

_Let me_ , he says, like Richie is giving him permission to do so instead of practically begging for it.

“Right,” he says with a quick nod. He tries to hide the disappointment in his voice but it must poke its way through anyway because Eddie tilts his head, lightly running his fingertips along the underside of Richie’s chin. He barely manages to stop himself from shivering.

“What are you wearing tonight?” Eddie asks.

“Huh?”

Eddie huffs impatiently. “To Stan’s party? What are you wearing?”

“Nothing new…” Richie shrugs, confused about where this is going. “Did you wanna like, match or?”

“No,” Eddie sighs. “You’re gonna like, mostly be covered, right?”

Richie nods. He figures he’ll wear one of his shirts with a button-up open over it. The staple Richie Tozier look that screams “I’m an adult and get to the shop in the thrift stores my mom steered me away from as a kid.”

“Okay.” Eddie nods firmly like he’s made his mind up about something. “Take your shirt off.”

“What!?” Richie squawks in surprise and Eddie immediately balks, rocking back on the sofa and further away from Richie.

“Sorry. Sorry, I just thought…”

“Hey!” Richie holds up a hand and pushes himself up onto the other elbow. “Whoa, whoa, no. Just – don’t say sorry, I’m probably like, all over what you’ve got planned. You just took me by surprise.”

There’s a pink tinge on Eddie’s cheeks stretching all the way up to his ears and he looks so fucking cute Richie can’t stand it. He surges up to kiss him again.

“What do you want to do?” he mumbles against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie answers with a little hum that shapes into a question mark in the air above them, like he’s too distracted by kissing Richie back to properly answer him and fuck, if that’s not like a deliciously painful punch in the gut.

“Eds,” Richie giggles and Eddie lifts his head to scowl at him.

“ _What?_ ”

“What did you wanna do?” Richie asks pointedly and the expression on Eddie’s face clears.

“Oh,” he mumbles. He tugs a little on the hem of Richie’s shirt. “Take this off?”

“Yeah,” Richie nods, pushing himself up a little at the waist so he can help Eddie get it off. It’s a little awkward and the collar pulls at Richie’s glasses, mashing them against his face as he laughs.

“Shut up, I’m _trying_ ,” Eddie huffs good-naturedly. Eventually, the shirt comes off and, with a gentle touch, Eddie tilts the side of Richie’s glasses back where they belong.

Now that it’s apparent to Richie that he’s sitting _shirtless_ in front of Eddie who’s swiping his tongue against red, kiss-swollen lips, it doesn’t take long for his self-esteem to drop. Because Eddie shouldn’t be allowed to look _that_ good while Richie sits there, tummy rolling a little over his jeans. Immediately, he slides his arms across his torso.

“Stop that,” Eddie says, catching his wrists.

“Sorry, I’m just not…” Richie trails off.

“What?” Eddie challenges.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re doing this as friends and you’re not actually required to be attracted to me because that shirt would be staying _on_.”

It’s a joke, albeit a self-deprecating one, but it doesn’t evoke a laugh from Eddie. If anything, he looks pissed, nose scrunching up as he stares at Richie.

“What are you talking about?” His thumbs rub little patterns against Richie’s wrists and Richie has to fight against the urge to pull them out of his grasp so he can cover himself properly.

“Don’t play dumb, Eds,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. There’s a flush creeping all the way up his chest now and he wishes he hadn’t said anything because there’s a high chance that if he had just stayed silent, Eddie would have his tongue on him right now. Instead, Richie’s ruined the mood with his own confidence issues and he ducks his head, deliberately not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“Hey…” Eddie says softly and leans down to kiss behind Richie’s ear. “I got you.”

“You don’t need to…”

“I _got_ you,” Eddie says again, more firm. And then he’s kissing down to Richie’s shoulders, his mouth trailing over his chest, hands skirting his sides.

“You’re a good looking guy, Rich,” he tells him and it just sends Richie spiralling.

His breathing turns into little pants as Eddie’s tongue wets a spot on his tummy before his mouth presses little, sloppy kisses there. “Here?” Eddie mumbles.

“Mhm,” is all Richie can really manage, and then Eddie’s teeth are scraping against his skin, sucking it into his mouth and Richie lets out a groan.

There’s a short little burst of pain but its soothed by the lapping of Eddie’s tongue, confident and sure and honestly where the _fuck_ did he learn to do that?

His jeans feel uncomfortably tight as Eddie sucks another hickey on the other side of his stomach. Surely, Eddie can feel that from where he’s on his hands and knees above Richie, not exactly touching but not far away enough for Richie’s erection not to be embarrassingly evident.

“Eddie, that feels – _ah_ – really good, but I…”

Eddie laughs against Richie’s tummy and the sensation drives him crazy, a low vibration warming its way right up his front.

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie says and finally sits up.

“You look way too fucking smug right now,” Richie tells him.

“And you look like you need to cool down!” Eddie grins. He presses his thumb gently against one of the bruises he’d given him and Richie’s hips jerks up of their own accord.

“Not cool, Spaghetti.”

“Calm down, cowboy,” Eddie smirks, patting his thigh. “We need to get ready for Stan’s party.”

“Do we have to go?” Richie asks, chancing his luck.

Eddie leans down to press another kiss to Richie’s tummy then nods with a degree of finality. “We _really_ have to go.”

_____

“We didn’t need to come,” Richie points out.

Eddie is tapping his fingers against the red cup in his hands and quickly shoots Richie a withering look. “It’s Stan’s birthday.”

“Stan wouldn’t notice if we weren’t even here!”

Richie knows that Eddie agrees with him, even if he won’t admit to it. They’d gotten to Stan and Mike’s apartment, wished their friend a happy birthday and then that had been the last they’d properly seen of him. Right now he’s sat in front of them on the sofa but with a giggling Patty in his lap.

It’s not that Richie doesn’t like Stan’s new girlfriend. In fact, he _loves_ her but all they’ve done is make gooey eyes at each other all night and it’s not like Bill and Mike have been any different.

“God, get a room,” Eddie huffs around the rim of his cup as Bill pushes himself up onto his tiptoes in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor and begins kissing Mike.

“Where are Ben and Bev?” Richie asks, peering around for them.

“Probably making out in the bathroom,” Eddie says.

“Nah, Audra and Kay already called dibs there.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he tips his head back against the wall. “Jeeze, why are all our friends fucking _heathens?_ ”

“What, like you wouldn’t be making out with someone right now if you could?” Richie teases, taking a swig from his bottle of beer.

Maybe Eddie is waiting for Richie to do just that because as soon as his tastebuds are flooded with the tang of piss poor alcohol, Eddie raises his eyebrow and says, “I was under the impression I could.”

Richie chokes on his beer.

He’s coughing and spluttering by the time Bev finds them, looking vaguely concerned but ultimately being soothed by Eddie’s passive expression as he calmly thuds Richie on the back.

“Everything okay, you two?” she asks, sidling up to them and propping her chin on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just fine, Bev,” Eddie replies, smiling to himself. Like an asshole.

Richie clears his throat and stands tall again, subtly knocking the side of his foot against Eddie’s ankle. In retaliation, Eddie digs the heel of his shoe into Richie’s toes, making him grit his teeth, but Bev is blissfully ignorant to all of this.

“Look,” she says, dipping her head towards them voice conspiratorial. “Can you guys make sure nobody comes near the laundry room?”

Richie and Eddie’s frowns are mirror images of each other.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“Well, Ben and I were maybe going to… you know,” Bev trails off with a suggestive smile and Richie gapes.

“Why is everyone such a fucking _horn dog_ tonight?” he squawks, throwing his arms up and nearly splashing Eddie with his beer in the process.

“Watch it, asshole!” Eddie says, reaching up to loop his arm around Richie’s, slotting the crooks of the elbows together so he can pull his arm down and hold him steady. He narrows his eyes at Bev.

“You’re a menace, Marsh,” he tells her.

“Yes, I am!” she replies cheerfully and quickly leans forward to peck Eddie on the cheek, wiggling her fingers in farewell to them and then disappearing into the laundry room where Richie can only presume Ben is waiting. Fucking horny bastards.

“Can you believe that?” Richie asks.

“What, you don’t want to?” Eddie shoots back.

“Are you _trying_ to get me to do another spit-take?” Richie stares down at Eddie with wide eyes. But all Eddie does is meet his gaze with a steady look of his own. He’s definitely trying hard not to smirk and all Richie wants to do is grab him by the collar and haul him over to their own secluded spot so he can press bruising kisses to every part of Eddie’s body possible.

“Here?” he manages to choke out.

“It’s cold out, no one else is going to be on the patio,” Eddie says. He reaches out and, innocently enough to anyone else, pushes his hand against Richie’s shirt. His thumb, however, presses down lightly on the hickey he’d given him earlier.

“Fuck,” Richie breathes. “Okay, come on.”

No one notices them leave and as soon as they’re outside, Richie sliding the door shut behind them, Eddie has him pressed up against the wall.

“What’s this for?” Richie manages to ask before Eddie’s covering his mouth with his own.

“Hmm?”

Richie tilts his head up, meaning Eddie ends up pressing a sloppy kiss to his chin instead. He makes a noise of disapproval and jerks his head back, frowning up at him.

“I just mean… you’re kissing me and I haven’t done any chores or…”

“Are you serious?” Eddie asks, goggling at him in disbelief. “I’m literally willing to make out with you and you’re asking what you’ve done to earn it?”

“Wasn’t that the deal?” Richie asks. He leans forward a little, their breath mingling together, noses brushing.

“Well…”

“What?” Richie presses. He can’t help it. He leans down, hands pressed firmly against Eddie’s waist. The tip of his nose trails a line down Eddie’s jaw and he can _feel_ him shiver against his touch.

“Richie,” Eddie breathes and Richie has to press his lips together. It’s one thing to make a verbal response when Eddie is leaving hot kisses against his skin but it’s another thing entirely to moan aloud just at the sound of Eddie saying his _name_. That’s one thing he can’t come back from and if the two of them are taking this anywhere else, Richie wants Eddie to be the one to do it. Hence the way he presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck and chances his luck.

“I mean, I haven’t really done anything to deserve anything. Is this like, the kissing toll or…”

“We – I…” Eddie trails off and heat spreads all the way through Richie’s body until his fingertips are tingling.

“Yeah?” he asks and sucks gently on Eddie’s earlobe.

“Fuck.” Eddie shudders against him and his jaw works as he fights to find his voice.

“You came to the party,” Eddie says eventually. “You didn’t want to come but you did so we could see Stan. So.”

Disappointment floods Richie. He starts to pull back but then Eddie’s hands are on his face, crushing their lips together and the sorrow fades a little bit.

The brick wall is chilly against his back but he doesn’t care, kissing Eddie and sucking on the tip of his tongue until Eddie moans. Blunt fingernails scratch against the back of his scalp. He hisses in pleasure.

Suddenly, Eddie is tugging on the lapels of his shirt, pulling him away from the wall and turning them around.

“Like this,” Eddie breathes, pulling them close again, only this time it’s _Eddie_ backed up against the wall and Richie is crowding into him. He’s going crazy and suddenly his hands are under Eddie’s shirt, fingers trailing over the ridges of his abs as Eddie licks into his mouth, tongue laving against the back of his teeth. It’s frantic and urgent and Richie feels like he’s going to explode.

He feels a pressure on the back of his calf, a thin line of _something_ and he realises with a jolt that it’s the heel of Eddie’s shoe. Eddie’s lifted his leg, wrapping it around the back of Richie’s thigh until his shoe is digging into Richie’s jeans.

“Richie,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m…”

“What is it?” Richie swallows whatever Eddie has to say next with another kiss but apparently whatever it was has to be said because there’s a hand planting itself in the middle of his chest. His hand is on Eddie’s thigh and he can’t remember how it got there. He feels so stunned about how quickly they’ve moved, the tension engulfing them more charged than ever and he’s worried that he might miss Eddie’s words, but he catches them alright.

“I’m hard,” Eddie says.

The effect is instantaneous and Richie goes to take a step back but Eddie’s leg tightens around him.

“Do – do you want to stop?” he asks.

Eddie tips his head back until its resting against the wall. His chest heaves as he fights to get his breath back and he stares up at Richie, his gaze searing against Richie’s skin, like he can feel it all over him, licking flames up his bare skin.

“I’m hard,” he says again.

Richie stares. He knows Eddie heard him the first time when he asked him to stop.

“What do you want?” he asks, trying again.

Eddie’s nails scratch lightly at the back of his neck. “ _Please_.”

He tugs Richie down and they’re kissing again and Richie, fuelled by who knows what sort of boldness, drags his hand down Eddie’s side, fingers skimming along the line of his belt and then suddenly he’s cupping Eddie through his slacks.

“ _Ah_.”

The noise is sharp, popping off like a firework and Richie squeezes his eyes shut. God, this is really happening. He applies more pressure and manages to punch a “ _guh”_ out of Eddie.

“That’s…”

“Whoa!”

The sound comes from neither Eddie or Richie, but Richie’s too fucking turned on to be quick on the uptake. Luckily, Eddie comes to his senses first and suddenly he’s shoving Richie away, turning to the third voice.

“Fuck,” he swears.

Richie blinks dopily and then freezes up, like a bucket of ice water has been thrown all over him. He catches the stricken look on Eddie’s face. Eddie, who now has both his feet firmly on the ground and is looking absolutely mortified.

Richie whirls around, coming face to face with Bill, who stands on the patio, hands on his hips as the light from inside casts shadows against his face, half-lit up with an amused smile.

“What’s going on here?” he asks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. SO. HAVE AT IT, I GUESS.

The Uber ride home is… awkward. By the acute, precise measurement of ‘as fuck’.

Richie presses his forehead against the window, the bright lights of the city whizzing by them, blurring into one bright glob that he has to close his eyes and turn away from.

Eddie is sitting rigidly at the other end of the back seat, tucked as close to the door as he possibly can. Just the image of him angling his entire body away from Richie makes his heart sink.

“Good night?” Seth, their Uber driver asks from the front side, automatically knocking a star off his rating.

“Fine,” Eddie and Richie answer together. The word is stilted, forced. Richie’s eyes dart to the side, meeting Eddie’s before sweeping away again.

He still can’t fully process how it all went wrong so fast.

One minute, he’d been making out with Eddie, heart racing, blood on fire, feeling so in love he could fucking die, with his hand on Eddie’s literal dick, albeit through his pants. The next, they’d been standing red faced in front of Bill who, to his credit, had seemed adorably delighted about this unexpected turn of events.

Eventually, the smile on Bill’s face had eventually faded the longer Richie and Eddie stood there, shooting holes in his assumptions.

_“I can’t believe you two are-”_

_“We’re not,” Richie had said quickly, panic barfing the words out._

_“Oh…” Bill had scratched at his head, confused. “So this is just…”_

_“A friendly thing.” Through all of it, Richie didn’t look at Eddie once._

_“Eddie, I didn’t know you were…”_

_“I’m not,” Eddie had said, swiftly shutting Bill up._

And that had been it.

Well, a weird sort of explanation had followed but Richie still isn’t sure Bill had kept up, but he _had_ been tripping over assurances that he wouldn’t tell the others. Eddie had seemed grimly satisfied with that, so Richie had let it be.

Now he’s sitting in the back of a car, chest aching and tongue heavy with words he _wants_ to say but won’t. He turns his head to look at Eddie again. The streetlights illuminate his face, casting shadows against all his sharp angles and sloping cheekbones. The raindrops speckling the windows give him freckles he never had before and Richie knows this because he’d been studying Eddie’s face since he met him, mapping out every part of the guy he’d always known was going to be the one to break his heart.

It’s an inevitability, he knows this. They were always going to be here. Maybe not in the back of an Uber. Maybe in their living room or a street corner or a coffee shop, but sooner or later all of Richie’s feelings were going to come spilling to the surface and pour over everything like hot lava until there was nothing left.

And that’s the most frustrating thing.

His feelings are still lying dormant, sizzling away, big enough to fill up his whole body and then some. He didn’t get to ruin it himself, but he tells himself that’s a good thing.

There’s a part of him that still wants Eddie to _know_ despite all the ways Eddie had acted mortified and humiliated tonight. Maybe it’s the masochistic part of Richie that feels a stifling urge to rip his skin away so all his organs are on display, a bright ‘I Love Eddie’ banner hanging from his heart.

God, this is fucking ridiculous.

And it doesn’t matter anyway because whatever this weird, charged thing between them had been, it’s over now. The tight balling of Eddie’s fists, knuckles popping white against his skin, is proof of that.

By the time they get back to their apartment, Richie is fully ready to just cry.

He mumbles a quick “goodnight” then makes his way into his bedroom.

There’s no fanfare about the way he pulls on his pyjamas and crawls into bed and he’s not going to draw the process out by painting some sort of melancholy fucking poetry over the top of it. He’d kissed his best friend, went too far, their other friend had found out and now it was over.

He rolls onto his side, shoulders hunched underneath his blanket as he stares at the wall, a spiderweb of possible solutions weaving its way through his brain. None of them are suggesting Richie is going to be happy anytime soon, and he’s already settling for the very mature, very adult possibility of _let’s just fucking ignore the past month and go back to normal and never speak of it again_ , when there’s a knock on his door.

He slams bolt upright, heart hammering in his chest.

_Don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me_.

Richie knows he’s not going to get over Eddie anytime soon, he knows that as well as he knows his own eye prescription. Maybe even better.

That tentative tapping against the wood of his door pushes hope back into his heart though. Eddie could be coming to tell him that he wants Richie to move out, but Richie still can’t help himself. He grasps at the renewed sense of optimism and stares at the door.

“Rich?” Eddie calls softly.

There’s a tugging in his chest, like a warning. If he’d remembered a parachute of caution to not let his feelings run away with themselves, then maybe the crash landing won’t hurt so badly, but Richie doesn’t care. He launches himself into the freefall anyway.

“Come in,” he replies. It feels stupidly formal.

Eddie pushes the door open, slips in through the minute crack he’s made and quickly closes it behind him like he’s trying to keep the rest of the world out. Like Richie’s a secret and, hey, maybe Richie is willing to take that. It speaks volumes about how little he thinks of himself but it’s two in the morning and Eddie is standing there looking restless and adorable (albeit blurry) in an oversized sweater, and self-preservation has long since flung itself out the window.

“Hey,” Eddie says, still hovering by the door.

“Hey back,” Richie says and relief floods through him so quickly when Eddie smiles, he nearly keels over.

As it is, he stays sitting in his bed, legs crossed under the sheets.

“About tonight…” Eddie starts. He stops, waits.

Richie waits too.

“About tonight?” he prompts and Eddie huffs.

“I dunno, I thought you’d maybe take it from there.”

Richie raises an eyebrow and reaches over to his bedside table, sliding his glasses back on so the fuzzy little rumple of Eddie Kaspbrak becomes clearer and sweeter and cuter and Richie already fucking knows he’s about to agree to whatever Eddie is about to say. He’s quite sure almost any option isn’t going to be kind to his heart but it’s pretty adept at taking a battering anyway.

“You were embarrassed,” Richie states simply.

Eddie stares at him then walks over. He perches himself on the corner of Richie’s bad, nearly teetering off it, but at least he’s closer.

“I let you put your hand on my dick at a party full of our closest friends,” Eddie says bluntly. His face is red.

“I’m sorry,” Richie mumbles.

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you have to be sorry for? I’m the one that acted like… like a…”

“Exhibitionist?” Richie supplies helpfully.

A snort tears out of Eddie’s throat and he shakes his head. “Jackass.”

But Richie sees it. The hint of a smile.

“I’m surprised Bill didn’t shit himself all over the patio.”

Eddie angles his body towards him now. “Dude, that is so gross!”

“Come on, it looked like he was about to do just that!”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just trying to tell the truth.”

“Are we stopping?”

The question draws Richie up short and he freezes. He’s trapped in Eddie’s molten gaze and has to dip his head down.

“Stopping the kissing toll?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” comes Eddie’s quiet reply.

“Do you want to?”

“Do _you_ want to?”

Richie lifts his head and frowns. “You looked so fucking embarrassed tonight. Getting caught with me!”

Eddie gapes. “I was _hard_ on Stan’s _patio_ and practically _humping your hand_. And I wasn’t even that drunk, I was just _doing that_ in like, basically a public space.”

“Yeah, with me,” Richie presses.

Eddie’s expression clears.

“You think I was embarrassed because it was with you.” He looks vaguely pained.

Richie lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “I mean…”

“ _God_ , Richie. Idiot,” Eddie huffs, finally shuffling over the duvet so he’s sitting on his knees in front of Richie. “I wasn’t embarrassed because of _you_.”

“You weren’t?”

There’s a hand in his hair and Richie doesn’t know how he holds back a whimper.

“Rich, you’re my best friend. I like this arrangement, I just think… We understand it, alright? But Bill obviously doesn’t. That much was clear. If we keep doing this – and I _want to_ – I think we should maybe set out more clear boundaries.”

“Like?”

“Only doing it at home. I’m not trying to keep you a secret or whatever, but it’s also just not something the others are gonna _get_. Not without making assumptions.”

Richie’s heart twists at that, remembering how Bill had automatically just assumed they were together. Like Richie could land a guy like Eddie.

“And we should, you know, take it slow…”

“Yeah, you should control your dick a little better,” Richie smirks and Eddie huffs out a laugh, swatting his shoulder.

“Can you let me know whether or not you agree with me?”

“I agree with you.” He does. He’ll agree with anything Eddie says if it means he’ll keep looking at him like that.

“So we can keep going?” Eddie asks, as if it’s Richie doing _him_ the favour.

“I want to,” Richie insists.

The hand in Richie’s hair moves then, guiding his head forward until he’s kissing Eddie.

His heart feels like it’s going to explode. Only half an hour ago he’d written off this ever happening again as an impossibility, or a fantasy relegated to his daydreams.

Eddie’s lips are familiar as always and even though Richie had only been kissing him a few hours ago, it still feels like _so long_.

He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer. “I think you should take your shirt off this time,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, and suddenly the sweater is gone, tossed down to the bottom of Richie’s bed.

Richie trails his fingers down Eddie’s front, across his abs and that just isn’t fucking _fair_.

“You look disgusted,” Eddie says.

“I am! How the fuck do _you_ get to look like this while I’m stuck looking like-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Eddie’s mouth is on his again, swallowing the last words as his fingers slide under the hem of his pyjama shirt. “Off,” he mumbles against Richie’s mouth.

Once Richie’s shirt if off, he realises what it must feel like to be an exposed live wire. Eddie’s skin is against his, chest against chest as they kiss, tongues sliding against each other in wet, sloppy licks. Eddie’s hand is in his hair and the other is trailing down his chest.

“Hairy,” Eddie mumbles.

“Sorry,” Richie breathes, tongue sliding out to trace the line of Eddie’s teeth and eliciting a sweet little hum.

“Don’t be,” Eddie mumbles and then he’s gone.

“Eds?”

Richie pulls his neck up to see Eddie sliding further down, mouth making the same journey it had pre-party. There are soft lips smoothing themselves against the skin of Richie’s chest and suddenly there’s a tongue trailing through the tufts of hair there.

“Okay,” he sighs to himself, head falling back against the pillow.

“I need to…” Eddie starts, breaking through the haze of Richie’s thoughts and forcing him to open his eyes again.

“What?”

Eddie is still kneeling at his side, shirtless and flushed but still hesitant.

“Can I…”

“Eds, just do fucking whatever, okay?” Richie says.

Maybe he should have asked for a little clarification first though, because it takes him wholly by surprise when Eddie swings a leg over his body and suddenly he’s straddling his hips, thighs pressed against either side of Richie.

“Even this?” he asks, looking down at Richie.

“Yeah, whatever, fine, this is good.” Richie’s voice is strained and Eddie must pick up on it because he smirks.

“Try and cool it,” he says, and then they’re making out again.

The wet smack of their lips is drowned out by the actual, literal _whimper_ Richie lets out when Eddie’s fingernails scratch lightly at his tummy. But it’s nothing compared to the noise he makes when Eddie lifts his head only to duck it back down again so he can kiss Richie’s nipple.

“Fuck,” he pants.

Eddie squeezes his sides playfully. “Do you want-?”

“Tongue, please.”

Then Eddie tongue is swirling around the nub, sucking it into his mouth and Richie is going crazy. He’d been thickening in his pyjamas before but now he’s fully hard and he doesn’t know how Eddie can’t feel his erection pressing against his ass.

He wants to focus on the sensation of Eddie’s mouth, a hot, wet vice around him but his mind is doing its absolute darndest to hold onto rule number 2: _cool it_.

“Kiss me again,” he blurts out. Eddie seems alarmed by the quick shift but he’s leaning up to do as Richie asked.

It’s not like kissing Eddie doesn’t turn Richie on because it _does_ but the feeling of Eddie kissing his way down Richie’s chest kicks it up a whole other notch and he can’t have Eddie’s tongue laving damp circles around his nipple if he wants his boner to go away any time soon.

So they’re kissing again, the weight of Eddie on top of him comforting and solid and Richie spans his hands down his back, stopping at Eddie’s narrow little waist. The hem of his pyjamas pants brush Richie’s fingertips and for a split second of completely lunacy, Richie slides his hands down and underneath.

Eddie lets out a surprise grunt and Richie’s hands retreat.

“Sorry,” he apologises, catching Eddie’s lips again.

“Richie,” Eddie groans and Richie halts, wondering if he’s just fucked it up all over again.

But then Eddie is reaching behind himself, each hand circling Richie’s wrists and then guiding his hands downward until Richie’s palms are flat against his ass.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Rich_ ,” Eddie sighs impatiently.

“I know, I get it but… Eds, I’m hard, how do you not feel that?” _Rule number two, rule number two._

“I feel it.”

Then Eddie shifts, wriggling back a little bit and then he fucking _grinds down_.

He’s hard too.

Richie’s hand clench automatically, squeezing Eddie’s ass and making him tilt his head back with a moan. Richie nearly blacks out.

“Eddie, you just said…”

“I know,” Eddie nods. He drags his gaze back down to look at Richie and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes nearly look pitch black.

His hands slide upwards to they’re resting on Richie’s shoulders and then his elbows come down to sit comfortably on his chest.

“We can slow down,” Eddie says softly. When he kisses Richie this time, it’s gentle and slow. He flicks his tongue out against Richie’s lips and then carefully sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Richie’s hips jerk up.

“We should slow down…” Richie agrees, despite the fact he’s so hard it hurts.

“Uh huh.” Eddie looks at him. They’re both staring at each other.

Eddie’s hips shift almost imperceptibly but the sensation is still nearly enough to make Richie’s eyes roll back into his head. His breath hitches, a tell-tale sign that he’s absolutely aware of every part of Eddie.

“You feel that?” Eddie asks, voice still as light and unexpectant as before.

“Mhm,” is Richie’s only reply. He holds Eddie’s gaze again and then nods, and they spill over into brand new territory.

Suddenly Eddie’s lips are crashing down against his own, hungry and searching. His hips start moving as he rolls them down on top of Richie’s.

Their moans mingle together in the hot, close space where their mouths are joined, but Eddie doesn’t let up the insistent pace of his hips. He winds them downwards, rubbing himself against Richie, their clothed erections pressing against each other and it’s the best thing Richie’s ever fucking felt in his life.

“Eddie, _fuck_ ,” he grits out. He squeezes Eddie’s ass more firmly this time, hands guiding him down with every little thrust Eddie makes.

The cotton of his pyjamas pants should dull the sensation but Eddie is relentless. His cock presses against Richie’s with each push forward and it feels so _good_.

“Yeah, keep going,” Richie urges him.

Eddie sits up, pulling away from Richie’s mouth but this way, there’s a little less mindless humping and more of a concentrated effort to bear his hips down on Richie’s. He can see the wet patch at the front of Eddie’s pants and makes an unintelligible noise.

“Rich, I think – _ah_ – I think I might…”

Richie shifts his own hips up, meeting Eddie at an angle that sends pleasure flooding through his whole spine. “It’s okay, Eds.”

“Yeah?” Eddie is flushed and panting, eyes screwed closed as his hair falls in his face. He’s the most beautiful thing Richie has ever seen and he nearly comes at the sight of him, but he doesn’t want to do it without Eddie.

He’s close, he can feel it and Eddie’s breath is laboured and broken like he’s nearly there as well.

“Yeah, give it to me,” Richie encourages him and Eddie’s eyes snap open. His eyebrows dip inward, like he’s been filled with a renewed sense of determination and he pushes his hips forward again.

Richie can feel him, thick and heavy even through his pyjamas pants and then his vision whites out.

“Eddie, _hnng_ , fuck,” he moans.

“Yeah, I’m…” Eddie pants and then Richie can feel him tensing above him. He wants to open his eyes but he’s too busy riding out his own orgasm, spilling into his pyjama pants and then suddenly Eddie flops down on top of him, boneless and heavy.

“Fuck…” Richie sighs, fighting to get his breath back.

“Uh huh,” Eddie agrees, his nose pressed into the hollow of Richie’s throat.

They stay like that for a while, Richie’s hands still resting on the small of Eddie’s back, their pants a mess.

“So, we just did that,” Richie says out loud, because he feels pushed for something to say and he realises straight away it was the wrong thing when Eddie freezes.

“Yeah, I should – I need to shower.”

He rolls off of Richie and onto the duvet.

“Eds, it’s like, two-thirty in the morning.”

“Yeah, and I just came in my pants and it feels gross,” Eddie snaps back. He’s sitting on the opposite end of the bed, his back facing Richie.

All Richie can do is watch as Richie stands up, foregoing picking up his sweatshirt as he stalks over to Richie’s door and then opens it so he can walk out.

A cool feeling of dread settles in Richie’s stomach. He thought they’d fucked up before with Bill, but now…

His head falls back against the pillow.

“Shit.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for how long this took except my brain broke I guess. But here we are!

Richie is sitting on the living room sofa when Eddie emerges from the bathroom, towel-drying his hair and clad in fresh pyjamas. 

  
  


“Jesus, Rich!” he startles, one hand flying to his chest. “You…”

  
  


“Scared you?” Richie’s eyes narrow a little bit. There’s nothing malicious in the action but he can’t lie and say that Eddie’s sudden skittishness around him rubs him the wrong way. Especially after what they’d just been doing. 

  
  


He’s in clean pyjamas himself after bunching up his come-stained pants and stuffing them furiously into his laundry basket. Then, while Eddie had still been showering, he’d emptied the whole thing and shoved a load into the washing machine, whites and darks and colours mixed together in an attempt to wash away this one mistake.

  
  


Because that’s what it had been, right?

  
  


A mistake.

  
  


His mind wants to remember the way Eddie had held onto him, kissing him fiercely, with the same intensity as Richie’s feelings for him. But all he can think about right now are the smooth planes of Eddie’s shoulder as he turned his back on him, his demeanour stiff and disgusted about what had just happened. 

  
  


Richie feels like being sick, but he sits on the sofa anyway, staring at Eddie who slowly lowers the towel from his head.

  
  


“You just made me jump, is all,” he says, twisting his mouth to the side and pointedly avoiding looking at Richie. Just because it’s what Richie had expected, doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  
  


They stare at each other for a few stretched seconds, except both of them seem fixated on a distant point above the other’s shoulder.

  
  


“Well. Night, Richie,” Eddie says, just as Richie knew he would because he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t be the first one to break, no sir.

  
  


“Wait.”

  
  


He hadn’t expected to do that, to be fair. But he’s called on Eddie anyway, the word tearing itself out of his throat in a desperate bid to stop Eddie from walking into his bedroom, like the door closing behind him would be too final. 

  
  


Eddie pauses, hand on the doorknob and looks back over his shoulder at Richie, eyes big and round and fucking shining.

  
  


“What?” he asks, and that takes Richie by surprise as well. Eddie sounds just as desperate as he does.

  
  


Swallowing roughly, Richie tilts his head to the side, in the direction of Eddie’s side of the sofa. “Can you like, come sit down for a minute?”

  
  


Eddie hesitates. He’s allowed to. But to his credit, he eventually walks over, white-knuckling the towel as he tucks himself into his own little corner. His knees are drawn up to his chest and he looks so… Richie doesn’t want to say ‘small’, mainly because he knows Eddie would hate that. But he does look small, and vulnerable and the realisation that he looks that way because of Richie is like a punch in the gut. Has he made Eddie feel that bad about himself?

  
  


“You said there are some things we could never come back from,” Richie starts off. Each word seems like it’s forcing itself out of his throat, hanging heavy on his tongue, scratching like sandpaper until he eventually finds the courage to eventually send it careening over the edge to join the rest of its comrades in the most difficult speech he’s given since he had to bullshit a solo presentation during his sophomore year in college. At least back then he could rely on cracking jokes to make his audience laugh, but he’s pretty sure that if Eddie laughs at him now, he’ll absolutely drop dead.

  
  


Eddie has him caught in that same unwavering gaze and when Richie widens his eyes a little, a question on his face, Eddie gives him a small minute nod. 

  
  


_ You’re right _ , the nods says.  _ I said that. Keep going. _

  
  


“Well, I…”

  
  


Tears blur Richie’s vision and he gulps down a shuddering breath.

  
  


“I need us to come back from that, Eds.”

  
  


He’s glad he chose not to make this a long plea because there’s no way he’d have been able to get through it if he had. 

  
  


“What?” Eddie’s voice sounds hazy and faraway and Richie squeezes his eyes shut.

  
  


“I need us to come back from whatever that was, because I can’t…” The lump lodges itself firmly in his throat, rendering any further speech incapable of being heard.

  
  


He feels the sofa cushion dip a little and when he opens his eyes and sees Eddie moving closer to him, he lets gravity do the rest for him, leaning into the way the cushion lowers until he’s crashing into Eddie’s chest, arms wrapping themselves around his waist.

  
  


“I’m sorry. I fucked up,” Eddie murmurs into Richie’s hair as his own arms come up around his shoulders.

  
  


“No, I did. Fuck,” Richie sniffs. He knows he’s getting the front of Eddie’s pyjamas shirt wet with salty tears, but he figures that Eddie would prefer  _ that _ bodily fluid over another. Gross, but probably true.

  
  


“Shut up, Rich.” Eddie huffs out a laugh, pulling back so his hands can frame Richie’s face. The situation isn’t that funny and Richie’s always been the one with the tendency to veer off into poorly-timed comedy material to diffuse the tension, so he has no idea where the hell Eddie gets off looking so amused. 

  
  


He knows better than to assume Eddie would ever laugh at him, especially when he’s basically bawling his fucking face off in front of the guy, but that doesn’t stop him feeling frustrated. 

  
  


“Don’t laugh at me,” he mumbles, knuckles bumping at his glasses as he tries to wipe his eyes. 

  
  


Eddie’s smile drops. “What? Jesus fuck, Richie, I’m not laughing at you! I’m just…”

  
  


He breaks off, one hand peeling itself away from Richie’s cheek to wildly gesticulate in the air before Eddie lets out a groan of frustration and tears a hand through his own hair.

  
  


“I’m annoyed at myself, okay? It wasn’t your fault. I just got ahead of myself because it felt really…”

  
  


His eyes dart down to meet Richie’s. And suddenly Richie is feeling like it’ll be okay if he tries his luck.

  
  


“Good?” he finishes, squinching his eyes shut a little as if anticipating fervent disagreement

  
  


Instead, Eddie’s shoulders droop a little and he lets out a resigned sigh. “Yeah.”

  
  


“That shit’s usually meant to feel good,” Richie mumbles childishly, because now he’s not entirely sure what the problem is.

  
  


“Yeah, thanks, Ruth Westheimer,” Eddie mutters.

  
  


Richie’s attempted  _ ‘who?’ _ is stolen away when Eddie drops a kiss into his hair before rocking back to sit on his heels, his hand sliding down to Richie’s shoulder.

  
  


“I never wanted to take advantage of you, Richie. This whole thing was about making you feel better and then it turned into like… me getting something out of it. We didn’t even properly talk about it, I was just fucking - horny as shit, I guess.”

  
  


That makes Richie’s eyes widen a little.

  
  


“It won’t happen again,” Eddie promises. “I want us to come back from this too.”

  
  


Richie is still gawking at him, mouth hanging open and there’s a flash of irritation in Eddie’s eyes before he snaps.

  
  


“Well! You can say something!”

  
  


“Sorry, are you trying to imply that I didn’t get anything from that?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of his bedroom.

  
  


Eddie’s eyes follow him and he immediately flushes before looking back at Richie. 

  
  


“I mean, I know you… finished. But like, I just sort of jumped you.”

  
  


“I’d do it again,” Richie blurts out before he can stop himself.

  
  


Should they have been having this conversation via Skype (why the fuck they ever would be, Richie doesn’t know), Richie would be inclined to believe that Eddie had lost connection what with how still he goes. He stares at Richie, brown eyes blown wide and Richie would be discouraged if not for how large his pupils have gone.

  
  


“What?” is all Eddie manages when he eventually finds his voice.

  
  


“I mean… we both clearly enjoyed it. It’s the same thing as the kissing toll except with like… a lot more nutting, I guess?”

  
  


Eddie shoves his face away. “You’re fucking digusting.”

  
  


It helps to break the tension though and Richie lets out a cackle, leaning back to dodge away from Eddie’s palm before he’s ducking his head under his arm and looking up at Eddie again, eyebrows raised.

  
  


“You liked that?” Eddie asks slowly.

  
  


Richie can feel his eyebrows push upwards, practically kissing his hairline, and that’s saying something if Stan’s Jack Nicholson-centric jokes are to be believed.

  
  


“Of course I fucking liked it, Eds,” he says.

  
  


“Oh.” It sounds like the quiet note of surprise has been punched out of Eddie. “Oh, okay, well… I’d do it again…”

  
  


“You would?” Now it’s Richie’s time to be shocked. “Because you kinda Sonic the Hedgehog’d right the fuck outta there after we…”

  
  


“Because I thought I had maybe like,  _ pushed  _ you, I guess. And maybe I was still kinda horny, I dunno.”

  
  


That startles a laugh out of Richie, but the way Eddie is looking at him tells him he’s not joking. His dick stirs in his pyjamas pants again and he has to fight the urge to press the heel of his hand against his crotch to relieve the ache. He still doesn’t know what this says about Eddie and his sexuality and maybe that’s something he should ask him about. But is that too invasive? Isn’t this just about getting off wherever they could?

  
  


“Are you still horny?” he asks. The words sound so stupid when they’re out of his mouth and hanging in the air, but Eddie gives him a jerky nod in answer.

  
  


“Yeah.”

  
  


“Okay. Well.” Richie’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes dart down to follow it.  _ Fuck. _

  
  


“Do you want me to blow you?”

  
  


He watches Eddie carefully, gauging his reaction. He doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s fingers twitch on his thigh, as if reaching towards the tell-tale sign of how turned on he is in his own pants. Richie’s mouth waters and he pulls his gaze back up to Eddie’s face.

  
  


“Richie, I thought this whole kissing toll thing was about helping  _ you _ . Like, it’s about making you feel good, so I don’t see how...”

  
  


Realising what he’s trying to say, Richie cuts in quickly. “Eddie, trust me, having your dick in my mouth will literally help me out so much.”

  
  


He knows he sounds desperate but he’s hard and turned on and, truth be told, the whirlwind of the last hour has left him feeling sort of dizzy. But it’s a good sort of dizzy, especially when he realises he’s in a position to make Eddie come twice in one night.

  
  


“So… this is like, a thing we do now?” Eddie asks. “We get each other off?”

  
  


The words make him sound unsure but there’s a glint in his eyes that suggest differently, and when it’s coupled with the slight upturn of his lips, Richie knows he’s up for it.

  
  


Smirking himself, Richie leans forward, meeting Eddie in an eager kiss and immediately they’re licking into each other’s mouths again, like they never really stopped.

  
  


It’s lazy and slow and Richie would be happy to sit there all night just sloppily making out on the sofa if he wasn’t currently preoccupied by the thought of getting his hand on Eddie’s dick.

  
  


His fingers trail down the front of Eddie’s chest, over his t-shirt, making him his and arch upwards, and then they’re passing over the soft cotton of his pyjama pants and-

  
  


“Fuck,” Eddie whines when Richie cups him through the material.

  
  


Richie presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s lips before he’s sliding down onto his knees, settling in between Eddie’s legs. 

  
  


“Shit. Okay.” Eddie is looking down at him, fists clenched on either side of his thighs. He opens his mouth.

  
  


“Are you about to ask me if I’m sure about this?” Richie askis, cutting him off, and he’s met with a sheepish grimace.

  
  


“I just don’t want you to think you  _ have _ to do this because I freaked out earlier!”

  
  


“Oh yeah, because sucking cock is  _ such  _ a hardship!” Richie sighs dramatically. 

  
  


“Dick,” Eddie scolds him.

  
  


“Yeah. Dick. Get it out,” Richie instructs, palming Eddie through his pyjamas and making him hiss.

  
  


Eddie lifts his hips up to push his pants down, his cock appearing, wet and ready. Richie isn’t about to win any awards for poetry, but that’s exactly what it looks like and he lets his teeth sink into his bottom lip at the sight of it.

  
  


“Eddie,” he says calmly.

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“When were you gonna tell your old pal Rich that you were fucking  _ hung? _ ”

  
  


“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie is blushing bright red at this point, the tips of his ears going crimson and there’s something adorably hilarious about an embarrassed Eddie attempting to cover his face with his hands while his dick continues to stand to attention in front of Richie. God, Richie really fucking loves him.

  
  


The reminder of how deep his feelings run hits through him like a gunshot and he has to inhale sharply through his nose.  _ Forget about it _ , he tells himself. Whatever this thing is between them, Richie can at least understand that it’s a purely physical thing.

  
  


And that can be enough for now.

  
  


Shit, that can  _ definitely  _ be enough for now.

  
  


He presses a kiss to the inside of Eddie’s thigh, nipping gently at the skin and moaning in approval when that makes Eddie slip his fingers into Richie’s hair.

  
  


“Pull it if you want,” he says throatily, and then licks a stripe up Eddie’s cock.

  
  


“Jesus,” Eddie gasps.

  
  


“No,  _ Richie _ ,” he responds, because he  _ has _ to be a pill.

  
  


Any argument that Eddie has to that is cut off when Richie takes him in his mouth, straight down until he has to stop and use his hand to wrap around the space in between. He makes a mental note to change Eddie’s contact name in his phone to Big Dick Eddie complete with an eggplant emoji, which is a completely insane thought to have when he has that very same dick in his mouth, but he needs something ridiculous to anchor him to the moment, and figures that’s as good a thought as any.

  
  


He allows his throat to relax, attempting to take Eddie deeper but when he feels a cough build up he pulls back and makes up for it with a few deft strokes of his hand.

  
  


“Fuck, that feels good,” Eddie sighs and Richie chances a look up at him. He nearly comes in his pants for the second time that night when he sees Eddie tipping his head back, eyes squeezed shut and the hand that’s not in Richie’s hair sliding up his own shirt. He already knows what Eddie’s packing under there and the thought of him running his hand over his own abs drives Richie crazy.

  
  


But he focuses on the task at hand. The task quite literally  _ in _ his hand.

  
  


Then he takes Eddie in his mouth again, his tongue swirling around the tip before he goes down again.

  
  


“ _ How _ are you doing that?” Eddie breathes. “This feels. Fuck.”

  
  


Preening under the praise, Richie turns his attention to Eddie’s balls, cupping them in his hand and enjoying the way Eddie pushes his hips up. He shifts his own head to accommodate for the extra length in his mouth and Eddie’s ass thuds back onto the sofa cushions.

  
  


“Shit, sorry.”

  
  


Richie pulls off with a wet smack, a string of pre-come sliding off his lips and he hastily wipes it away.

  
  


“Eddie, you seriously don’t have to apologise,” he tells him.

  
  


Fingers brush lightly at his forehead, pushing his hair back. There’s still a pink tinge sitting high on Eddie’s cheekbones. 

  
  


“I don’t want it to be too much.”

  
  


Richie straightens up and exaggeratedly lifts his hands to gently smack them against Eddie’s hips before keeping them there.

  
  


“Edward,” he says as formally as possible, smirking when he catches Eddie’s eyeroll. “Please be assured that you literally have full permission to fuck my face if you want to.”

  
  


Clearly, that hadn’t been what Eddie was expecting him to say as all traces of annoyance dissolve into shock. His mouth forms the beginning of a word, most likely  _ what _ . But it never makes it out as Richie has swallowed him whole again.

  
  


And then Eddie is hesitantly lifting his hips up, pushing forward when Richie moans around him to spur him on.

  
  


From there on out, it’s easy. Eddie gives and Richie takes and takes and takes like it’s the last dick he’s ever gonna suck in his life. It’s not exactly a romantic thought, but this isn’t about romance. It’s about Eddie being turned on and Richie being willing to help him out with that even if that’s a complete role reversal to how this whole situation started. Not that Richie is gonna complain.

  
  


“I’m not gonna last long,” Eddie warns him. His fingers tighten in Richie’s hair which sends sparks of pleasure shooting straight down Richie’s spine. 

  
  


“Richie, I’m -  _ ah _ \-  _ Rich. _ ”

  
  


Richie taps two fingers against Eddie’s hips as his mouth works at him, signalling that it’s okay for him to let go. Richie isn’t going anywhere and he lifts his eyes up because he wants to see this.

  
  


When Eddie comes, Richie is treated to the whole thing. The way he throws his head back, the way his mouth falls open into a blissed out expression. He hears Eddie’s breath hitch as his eyebrows dip inwards, only this time there are no other lines surrounding them like the ones that accompany his usual frown. This time Eddie’s expression clears, teeth white and clear as a hissing inhalation quickly turns into a punched out groan as he comes in Richie’s mouth and Richie swallows it.

  
  


He kisses down Eddie’s cock after he pulls back, swiftly wiping at his own chin because he knows he didn’t get it all and there’s no way he’s gonna let the moment be ruined by Eddie cursing him out about how gross it all is.

  
  


As Eddie gets his breath back, Richie tips his head to the side, resting his cheek on Eddie’s knee and watching him come back to Earth. There’s literally no limit to how smug he feels right now, and it’s kicked up a notch when Eddie eventually blinks his eyes open and treats Richie to a dopey smile.

  
  


“You’re not gonna freak out on me, are you?” Richie asks.

  
  


Eddie wordlessly shakes his head, still breathing heavily as he reaches out to cup Richie’s cheek. “That was…”

  
  


He’s not the only one lost for words and Richie has to fight tooth and nail not to lean into the touch, into the warm palm against his cheek.

  
  


“I’d kiss you right now,” he says. “But I don’t know if you’d find that gross or not.”

  
  


Eddie studies him for a moment, before surprising Richie and leaning forward. Richie pushes himself up onto his knees to meet him while Eddie experimentally pushes his tongue into Richie’s mouth, tasting himself. He lingers there for a moment and pulls away, a small crease in his forehead.

  
  


“That’s weird,” he says quietly.

  
  


“That’s  _ normal _ ,” Richie reminds him and Eddie quickly nods.

  
  


“No, I know, it’s just… An acquired taste?” He winces out the last part and Richie splutters with laughter.

  
  


“You could call it that, Spaghetti-O,” he snickers, clapping him on the knee before pushing himself to his feet.

  
  


“Wait, don’t you need to…” Eddie stops him with a hand pressed into his sternum. 

  
  


Catching up swiftly, Richie feels his whole stomach twist. “It’s okay, I was just gonna take care of it myself, I guess.”

  
  


“Oh,” Eddie says. He almost sounds disappointed.

  
  


Richie swallows and flexes his fingers at his sides. “Unless you… want to?”

  
  


Eddie’s eyes darken a little and Richie’s traitorous dick makes a valiant attempt to remind them both that it’s still here.

  
  


“I want to,” Eddie says. “You did it for me, so…”

  
  


Honestly, this is an opening like no other for the sexuality question but Richie’s already told himself that’s none of his business. Sure, he did just have Eddie’s business in his mouth and down his throat but this is a whole other ballpark that could swiftly turn into a minefield if Richie pushes the wrong button. And for once in his life, he doesn’t  _ want _ to push. 

  
  


He just wants to be with Eddie, whatever way he’s allowed.

  
  


“Okay,” he nods eventually. “Sure, Eds, that’s…”

  
  


“We’re making it awkward now,” Eddie snaps irritably and Richie’s face loosens into a grin.

  
  


“What do you want me to say instead then?  _ Pip-pip, tally-go, this dick won’t suck itself? _ ”

  
  


The hand on Richie’s torso pushes and he takes a step backwards, snorting with laughter as Eddie stands.

  
  


“Just get to the bedroom now, you moron.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> as always you can come chat to me on twitter @rxpunzelss!


End file.
